


Searching for Open Skies

by orphan_account



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Pining, Prince Eddie Kaspbrak, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-06-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:20:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24797578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: This is a story about a prince, a castle, and a wedding.This is a story about running away.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak & Stanley Uris, Eddie Kaspbrak & The Losers Club, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Kudos: 35
Collections: Richie/Eddie Bigbang 2019





	Searching for Open Skies

**Author's Note:**

> Eddie's entire story just makes me really emotional and I thought that the environment/control of a prince's life would be a good way to explore that, so here we are!

[Amazing Prince!Eddie fanart by njess04 on tumblr!](https://njess04.tumblr.com/post/621404441858457600)

Eddie Kaspbrack is already in a bad mood even before he learns about his own wedding. It's a Thursday, which means his calculus lesson, which means spending three hours in the morning being so, so confused in the always-freezing library. Mike's a great teacher and really tries his hardest, but all the skill and determination in the world wouldn’t make his brain like math any more; they’ve spent all morning on logarithms without them really clicking at all. So, in short, he's already pissed. 

Even when Stan shows up to take him out of the lesson early, a huge relief, he's still seething. He just barely manages to announce that the Queen has requested him in the throne room before Eddie's stomping out ahead of him, already complaining, and he can feel Stan rolling his eyes from behind him.

“I have literally been doing math all morning and none of it makes sense, Stanley! Literally none of it!” He groans, hurrying through the empty corridor, shoes clacking against the cold stone beneath his feet and servants nodding as they pass.

“Look--” Stan tries, and fails.

“Mike will show me how to do it, and it’ll make sense. We’ll work through a problem together, and it’ll make sense. Then I’ll do one on my own, and guess what? It doesn’t make any fucking sense! It’s so stupid!”

“Eddie, listen--”

“Stan, I have an exam on this in a fortnight, and I don’t think I’m going to survive it. Do you know what my mom will do to me? It won’t just be calculus in the mornings, it’ll be calculus the afternoons, and all the way through the evening, too. Do you think I can take that? Let me tell you, I can’t. It is going to kill me, but she won’t even let that happen, you know.” Eddie knows he’s doing the thing where he talks too fast but his brain is moving even faster and he doesn’t really feel like stopping either, and maybe he should notice the pinch of Stan’s brow, or that he wasn’t rolling his eyes at all anymore, or, hey, let him get a word in, but he doesn't. 

“Seriously--”

“Well, she’ll just have to fail me then,” he announces, throwing his hands up in the air as the guards open the throne-room doors, walking in backwards easily. “Because it doesn’t make any fucking sense.” 

Stan’s face is very, very pale.

“ _Edward_.”

His mother’s voice is a cold, cold hiss, all black ice, and he freezes in his tracks, a rabbit surrounded by hounds. He turns slowly into the throne room, his mother’s twisted, furious expression overshadowed by the fact that they have company. In their nicest chairs, the ones that he’d been forbidden from as a child and rarely allowed into now, are maybe two dozen noble women. They’re all clearly what his mother calls “Nice Young Ladies,” dressed in luxurious gowns with servants at their side, most of them blushing at his behavior. The qualifications for being a Nice Young Lady are, from what he can figure out, as follows: be filthy rich. 

What Eddie wants to say is _what the hell is going on_ , but instead he backtracks, standing up as straight as humanly possible, tucking his feet in beneath him, clearing his throat, and offering his lowest, most gentlemanly bow. The hole he needs to dig himself out of is awfully deep. Stan falls in beside him, face a mask, but him just being there helps. 

“Ladies, to what do I owe the pleasure?” He asks, the words forced, mostly addressing the queen because, as far as he knew, they weren’t expecting any guests. Fortunately, his mother clearly doesn’t want to make a scene, putting on an equally forced smile. 

“Eddie, you’re going to introduce yourself to these women, get to know them, and then, one day soon, one of these ladies will be your very own wife! Our future queen! Isn’t that a lovely surprise, Eddie-bear?” She croons, and the only thing he can do is stare blankly at her for a moment. This is not a lovely surprise. The only coherent thought he can really form is that, if one of these women has to marry him, that nickname probably isn’t helping. 

Then he thinks: Huh? What? _Married_? as Stan gently nudges him forward and introductions begin.

Eddie is so, so lucky that he’s had 18 years of etiquette training, enough that he can make polite conversation in a state of complete shock turned complete panic. He asks one girl where she’s from, thinks _I might have to marry this woman that I’ve never seen before in my life_ , and then makes a good joke at her response. She’s probably been told to laugh at all of his jokes anyway, but he thinks it’s genuine. He’ll take what he can get

So the thing is. The thing is that Eddie is gay. That’s a bit of a speedbump towards marrying a woman, he’s pretty sure. It’s not like he dislikes them or anything! Girls are just fine, and he likes the way they smell and their jokes and finds their makeup pretty, and he would probably die for Beverly if she didn’t do the same for him first, but that’s not attraction. Most places are rather lax about that sort of thing, but in high society… As a prince, it’s his duty to have an heir, at least in his mother’s eyes, a thought that genuinely makes him feel a little sick. 

And even if there were, somehow, men in this meet-and-greet from hell, it would barely be any better. It still wouldn’t be his idea. They’d all be strangers that he didn’t choose and would be expected to like anyway. They wouldn’t be-

As he’s ushered towards the next Nice Young Lady to make pleasantries and learn details about her family he’s 100% going to forget, he gives Stan a look of desperation, and he mouths “I tried to tell you”, but he looks more sorry than exasperated. 

Eddie’s pretty sure he does a great job of digging himself out of a terrible first impression and, more importantly, out of trouble with his mother. Through all the talking, there are some girls that he actually thinks he might get along with. Not for like, marriage, but for conversation at the parties he’s forced to go to or a few awkward dinners or something.

Discussing the last month’s moon festival (an incredibly safe topic) with a particularly shy girl, he can’t help but feel bad for her, for all of them. There’s a good chance that most of them want to get married as little as he does, considering that none of them have met before and they’re expected to take on a whole lot of political responsibility from the union, too. Well, at least some of them probably want to become queen, but he doubts that’s the case for most, barely older than he is. 

Finally, finally, _finally_ , the women and their servants and all of their carriages are bid good day, gently escorted to the door, and kissed on the hand because he knows that his mother is still watching. He takes a deep breath and walks back into the throne room. In his head, Eddie is about to give his mother a piece of his mind, tell her that no, he is not going to get married anytime soon and she can’t have expected him to be polite without even telling him it was going to happen. He’s mad, angrier than even math could’ve made him because this isn’t fair, but it never has been. 

“Eddie, I can’t believe you would do that to me! I went out of my way to gather all of those girls together, just for you, just to surprise my son, and you embarrass me like that! Do you have any idea how hard I had to work to make it a surprise?” Sonia whines, tears at the corners of her eyes, and he feels familiar guilt worm its way into the pit of his stomach. He feels small.

“Mom, I—”

“I just want to make sure my only son is taken care of! I won’t be around forever, you know, and I can’t stand the thought of my little Eddie, all on his own, after I’m gone! I have to make sure there’s a good girl around to help you.”

 _That’s not fair, you know that she’s just talking about dying to make you feel bad_ , says the Bill in the back of his mind. Brave, valiant Bill. But knowing what she’s doing doesn’t make it stop happening, or keep him from feeling terrible. He is going to tell her that he’s not going to get married at all and that she should’ve told him about this, that it’s completely unfair to just decide everything for him when he’s an adult.

“Does that have to be now?” He asks instead, and winces inside of his head. He doesn’t want to hurt her, is the thing. 

“You would really ask me that? I’ve already made all the preparations for the wedding next month!” She wails, and, for the second time that day, the world falls out from underneath him. Next month. That’s too soon for something that shouldn’t be happening in the first place.

He doesn’t say anything else, not anything important. He nods a lot, yes mommy’s, doesn’t hurt her anymore than he already has. There’s no way out of it: he is going to marry one of those girls in a month in front of the entire kingdom. It doesn’t even feel real enough to matter.

Eddie will wish, later, that he’d fought harder, that he’d yelled, that he’d broken something, anything at all, even if he knows it would’ve been impossible. Despite it all, Sonia Kaspbrack is very good at her job as Queen, which means maintaining perfect control. She is not very good at being a mother at all. It’s a strange balance, where everything about her seems so vulnerable, where one wrong move and she’ll burst into tears, and where he’s the vulnerable one, wrapped up in a suffocating mound of blankets, where speaking his mind will make him deathly ill, and she just can’t have that. It makes it hard to think.

He walks slowly back to his room, feeling hollowed-out. Stan stays next to him, of course, putting one arm across his back to support him and suddenly he does feel too tired to support all of himself. He doesn’t say anything, and Eddie’s glad; he doesn’t have the strength for talking either, and Stan knows that. His presence alone is an even one, steady and predictable and very, very there, and he’s so grateful it would hurt if he wasn’t almost completely numb. 

Listening to the gentle bubbling of the water as Stan draws him a bath without him even asking, he undresses in a haze. Stan’s been his primary servant since he was a kid, when it was really his mother’s job to take care of him but they spent most of their time playing, and they’ve been friends since then, so it’s pretty much routine. He sinks into the warm water of the large basin, pulling his knees up to his chest and letting the warmth engulf him completely, breathing in the flower-scented oils and the condensation in the air until he can think again.

“Ugh,” Eddie says, and Stan nods in understanding. 

“I didn’t know until they got here this morning, or I would’ve warned you. She’s really been keeping it under wraps,” he sighs, shaking his head and passing him the soap, the kind that costs extra because it’s supposed to keep him from getting rashes. He doesn’t think he’s ever had a rash in his life, even without the soap. Stan is his usual, neat self, servant’s shirt tucked into his slacks perfectly, legs crossed where he’s sitting on a stool next to the tub, and Eddie would die without him, probably. 

“I can’t do this.” It feels like the truest thing he’s ever said in his life. Calculus doesn’t even exist anymore, that’s how insignificant it is in light of a wedding--his own wedding, his own damn wedding, that’s looming closer and closer like a wave across the horizon, going to drown him. He’s breathing too fast, and Stan’s hand is on his back, rubbing circles, until his chest doesn’t hurt anymore, but it takes awhile. 

“You won’t have to. We’ll--We’ll think of something, Eddie. This is crazy.” Stan promises, and he decides to believe him, just so he’s able to breathe. 

By the time he’s dressed again and Stan’s returned to his servants’ duties only with Eddie promising he’ll be alright, he’s himself enough again to be angry. The rage, the indignation, bursts out inside of him in the safety of his room, sudden and fever-pitched. It’s a lifetime of unfairness, padded through nice clothes he hates and a castle that feels more like a prison, but unfairness all the same. Really, he feels stupid for even being surprised. Of course she would decide who he should marry, of course! He should’ve seen it coming, because, like she said, of course she needs to know who will Take Care of Him. Who will tether him to the cold stone walls of the castle, who will call the healers back again and again with their salves and tonics and gentle, gentle, squeezing worry, who will make sure he doesn’t overexert himself by walking into town, doesn’t swim in the cold water around their city, doesn’t scuff his knees with the knights, doesn’t climb trees, doesn’t play with the other kids, doesn’t run, run towards his friends, run down to meet the sea, doesn’t run away from her, doesn’t run run run _runrunrunrunrunrun_. 

He can’t even scream his frustration out loud, that would draw the guards in seconds with his mother on their heels, ready to save him, like anger itself is poisoned. No, even this must be small. Sick with the force of his own feelings, Eddie grabs a feather-stuff pillow and forces his face into it to muffle the noise, and then he screams. It almost helps, emptying his lungs until his throat hurts, eyes squeezed tightly shut until flashes of yellow and white break the darkness behind his eyelids. Almost, but not quite. When he can’t scream any more, when he’s close to understanding what’s happening to his whole life, he hurls the pillow as hard as he can at the wall, just barely missing the window that Richie’s climbing through, wishing that it would make more noise than just a soft thud when it hits. Hey, wait a second.

“Jeez, if you didn’t want me to come in, you could’ve just said so!” Richie declares, hauling himself the rest of the way in and tumbling out onto the floor, trousers scuffed with dirt and glasses askew, and Eddie catches his breath, thrown off enough to relax. 

“Wow. Nice entrance, asshole. You know you can just sneak in through the servant door, right? Then you wouldn’t get mud all over my floor,” Eddie scolds, doing his best to sound like he actually minds as he pulls Richie up to his feet. 

“Hey, I’ve gotta leave your mom some sign I was here, she’s got to have something to sigh dramatically over as she stares off into the distance, wondering when I’ll return--hey, what’s wrong?” He stops mid-monologue, hand posed dramatically over his own forehead in a swoon, and Eddie realizes he’s pulling a face at the mention of his mother, hands clenched at his sides. 

“I… she’s trying to marry me off.” The words taste chalky and bitter on his tongue, and his smile drops. He can tell that Richie’s caught off guard for a second, standing limp, and in literally any other circumstance he’d be proud. As is, he just feels worse. 

“Oh.” For once, his voice is quiet. “Oh. How long have you got?” He says it like Eddie’s going to die, like they’re figuring out how to spend his last days, which is exactly how it feels. 

“About a month.” He backs up to sit on the too-soft mattress of his bed, all the fight seeping out of him, and Richie follows. 

“ _Shit_.”

“Yeah. There’s no way I’ll be able to talk her out of it. I didn’t even know until today.” They just sit there for a long time, nothing to say at all, and he feels like his insides are all tied up in a knot. The more he thinks about it, the more he feels sick. For a second, he thinks that Richie’s going to put a hand on his shoulder and he starts to lean into it, but instead he just picks a feather out his hair and Eddie just stands up because he doesn’t know where else to put his momentum. Stupid.

“Well,” Richie starts, following after him. “You’re lucky you’re friends with me, Eds. The infamous Richie Tozier, best escape artist in the kingdom of Derry, known pick-pocket, wanted by—”

“Oh, shut up, Richie,” Eddie says, shoving him in the shoulder, but he’s laughing. Richie’s definitely not nobility, but he’s not even remotely a bandit, doing odd jobs around the city where he’s needed and telling stories. At worst, he’s a mild nuisance, and that’s mostly just to Eddie anyway. 

“Okay, okay, but I’m serious.” Eddie raises an eyebrow. “I’m serious about getting you out of this one, that is. I mean I’m not—none of us are just going to let you get hitched. Imagine the poor lady! You’d drive her crazy before the honeymoon, organizing all your socks and talking about whatever diseases you can get from going into town. Trust me, we’ll save her from such a horrible fate. And also you, or whatever.” Eddie’s too busy aiming for Richie’s shins to be upset, at least for a little bit.

Richie spends the night, the way he’s done since they were kids. Or, almost like when they were kids. Back then, he’d climb into the big, empty bed next to Eddie and curl up there and they’d whisper long into the night, no matter what was coming the next day, but somewhere along the way, without either of them saying a word, he’d started using extra pillows and blankets to sleep on the floor instead. (Eddie wishes, sometimes, that he wouldn’t, then wishes that he didn’t wish that at all. It would be easier that way.) 

Now, he just stares at the ceiling, lit by the low, heavy shadows of the tiny lamp on his bedside table, lying completely still as he listens to Richie’s stories slowly trail off into mumbling and then slow, easy breathing. It keeps the big room from feeling lonely, and it’s Richie’s soft snoring that lulls Eddie off to sleep, too. 

Stan knows to wake them early in the morning, before any other servants or guards feel the need to come in, nudging Richie with his foot until he swats at him and then doing it a little more until they’re both laughing. The secrecy is more of a habit than anything at this point; most of the serving staff is well aware that Eddie’s friends regularly break into the castle to see him because he’s rarely allowed off-grounds, and most of them don’t mind. Even if it’s not something ever really spoken about, Eddie has a hunch that a lot of them are sick to death of his mother’s pickiness and her tendency to yell, and he grew up with many of them. Sonia does not like when things are dirty, and she does not like people who do the dirty work to keep things clean. 

Richie insists on leaving back out the window to be dramatic for no reason, but pauses just before he drops down to the roof below to climb the rest of the way. 

“I’ll think of something. We’ll save your bride-to-be yet.” He gives a stupid, endearing wink and disappears, and Eddie has to take a second with his hand over his eyes to be a functioning person again, hurrying to get ready for the rest of the day. 

* * *

In the end, Mike’s the first one to come up with a real, actual, plausible plan. It comes a week after Eddie first learns of the engagement (it’s easy to count when time is so very precious), the first time he manages to sneak out when his mother is so _doting_. All his measurements are taken again and again, the staff are reminded of exactly what he’s allergic to, which he thinks is almost everything that would normally be at a wedding, and she asks him which girl he liked the best and answers herself before he can even get in a word. Getting to see his friends again is probably the only thing besides self-preservation keeping him from going completely fucking crazy. 

As he walks down the tiny, beaten path towards their lair, he breathes in and out, in and out, feeling the tightness in his chest dissipate, replaced by the smell of rich soil and fresh grass. It’s one of the few places where he doesn’t feel like a prince at all, the crown lifted off of his head. It doesn’t matter who any of them are supposed to be: not Bill’s training as a knight, not Mike’s job trying to teach Eddie math, not Stan being supposedly a servant but more of a friend, not Bev’s status as a runaway making it as a seamstress, with Ben trailing after her, and not the fact that Richie physically cannot keep his mouth shut, no matter who he’s talking to. They’re not any title or role or past at all, just Eddie&Richie&Stan&Bill&Mike&Beverly&Ben. Themselves. 

The little cave is another tradition, sacred in its own way. Bill had discovered it, of course, and coaxed Eddie out from the castle grounds to explore it when they were no more than eight, and Ben had helped them to clear out the dirt from the bottom. Over the years they’d stacked it with crates and a reserves of snacks and hollowed out a small pit for a fire in the winter, a ripped-up sheet pinned above the entrance by a few rocks, letting in thin streams of sunlight in the summer. There’s messy paint splatters on the wall in places, some shittier than others. There’s quite a few dicks, thanks to Richie, a corner dedicated to only rather detailed depictions of all sorts of birds, thanks to Stan, and some crude doodles of Eddie’s mom, thanks to all of them. It is messy and it is a home. 

Everyone’s waiting for him, and Bev pulls him into a firm hug the second he’s past the curtain, and he hugs her back as tight as he can, sighing. There’s a long moment of silence before anyone speaks. 

“So. Y-you’re sure the queen wuh-wuh-won’t change her mind?” Bill asks, sitting down on the crate opposite him, and Eddie nods his head. He’s tried, and from what Stan’s picked up on from the other servants and from listening in on what meetings he can, most of the plans really have been made already. Who he’s even going to marry is such a small detail, somehow. “P-p-plan B, then.”

“My family used to live out on Dartneu Islands when I was a kid with some relatives, and the house stayed in our family even when we moved away. It’s about a day or two’s trip from here, past a bunch of farmland and some woods, and I don’t think we’d be easy to find,” Mike explains, one hand on Eddie’s shoulder, his voice even, leaving it up to him to decide how he feels. The thing is, he doesn’t really know, only barely processing the suggestion, that there might be a way out at all. 

“And, my friend Kay is pretty much a feared pirate captain, so we could use her ship to get there. We’d have to pay her something, but I get a discount, and it wouldn’t be too much to take us a distance that short. She took me in before I settled in here, so we can trust her.” Bev adds, and he stares dumbly between her and Mike for a moment. 

“Is the plan for me to just leave?” They all just of shrug and nod, and Eddie feels sort of delirious, trying not to laugh and freak them all out. 

“I want to steal from the treasury so fucking badly, I can pay for it,” is the first thing he manages to say in response, but it’s true. It feels a little bit like revenge, maybe. That castle has taken eighteen years of his life, leaving only stolen moments with the people in front of him and the desire to get away, so a few jewels are nothing.

“Hey, I have the title of master thief here!” Richie exclaims, and Eddie pulls a face. 

“You haven’t stolen shit your whole life, Richie. Your parents would kill you.”

“Wrong! You see, many years ago, I pulled off my greatest heist of all: I stole your mom’s hear—”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Stan interrupts, physically elbowing Richie out of the way and taking his seat in the process. “We definitely need to work out some of the details, but with the time we’ve got, I think it’s the best we can do.” 

“What am I supposed to do if they find me? If I get caught?” He shoves down the tiny sprout of hope within him with both hands, forcing it back down. 

“They w-w-won’t. We won’t let that happen, Ed-eddie.” Bill puts a hand on his shoulder, grip firm and reassuring, even as he feels himself breathing faster than he should. “We’re not going to let her trap you. And buh-buh-besides, I don’t think she’ll see it coming.” That, at least, is true. Even when he feebly disagrees with her or even manages to yell, to really argue before she starts her crocodile tears, the queen still only thinks he’s fragile. Certainly too fragile to think of surviving without her. 

“But what about you guys? She doesn’t like most of you as it is, she’ll freak out.” 

He mentally double-checks that executions are outlawed in Derry, just in case. “No, scratch that, she’s going to freak out if I leave no matter what. I can’t let you guys get in that much trouble.” Stan, Bill, and Mike would be fired at best, and all of his friends would be imprisoned at worst. Knowing Sonia, she would probably think of their rescue attempt as a kidnapping, no matter what he had to say about it. (What he had to say about anything didn’t ever count for much, unless it was nodding and a ‘yes, ma’).

“Eddie, I love you, but you don’t get a choice,” Ben says, catching him off guard, sincere but determined. 

“I mean, you can try to spare us, but only if you want to get dragged out of the castle and to a nice, safe island in a sack. We’ll put you in a sack, Eddie.” Bev punches him in the shoulder for emphasis, and he does not doubt her for a second.

“Right. We’re not the ones you need to worry about, we’ll be fine. We’re able to leave the castle, at least.” Mike assures. 

It takes the weight off of his chest, at least for just a moment. He’s not just waiting for a wedding he doesn’t want, where he’ll have another person holding him back, tying him to the castle and the throne and hundreds of responsibilities he never asked for. He’s waiting for a way out. They spend the rest of the afternoon just talking, not about weddings or allergies or impending doom but just stupid, fun stuff.

Eddie feels better all the way back into the castle, at least until he’s caught sneaking in by two guards and hauled towards the parlor with no explanation, and then he’s just scared. It’s clear that he’s messed up, yet again, from his mother’s face, although she doesn’t speak as she grabs his arm, too hard, and drags him alongside her, hard enough that it’ll leave patches of white on his skin when she lets go.

Before he’s lead into the parlor, they pass a line of the Nice Young Ladies sitting in chairs outside the door, and it’s clear they’ve been waiting awhile, slumped in their chairs, picking at nails, and a few of them even sleeping, though even that is polite. All of the girls who he’d found halfway interesting are gone.

His mother sits him down in a chair near the fire, finally releasing him, though it hardly feels like it. Her anger is directed fully at him, instead of the outside world she views as so dangerous for him, though that’s not much better. Anger is anger, and she is furious.

“You’re embarrassing me, Eddie! We have been waiting for hours. You kept all those nice girls waiting while we looked everywhere! I didn’t know where you were, or who you were with, or if you were even alive. How could you do that to me?” It doesn’t matter that he didn’t know anything was happening today, that it felt like he would die if he stayed in the castle all alone any longer, it doesn’t matter a bit. Guilt curdles in his chest, sick and all his fault.

“I’m sorry, mom, it won’t happen again.” He doesn’t want to apologize, but that doesn’t matter, either.

“Oh, it _won’t_. I can’t have you disappearing like this, when there’s so much to do. We’re going to be so busy!” She says it with a childish sort of joy, like they can just forget about this little incident, if he does what he’s told. Her cheerful tone scares him more than her anger, and Eddie is left, drained and empty, by the fireplace. It’s too hot; the salon is a dark, stuffy room full of plush chairs and scented candles and quick-sand carpet and he hates it. It makes it hard to breathe.

Over the next few hours, the girls trickle back in one by one, remaining in the chair opposite for him for about thirty minutes, though it feels much longer, guardians gone but the guards still firmly at the door. He thinks it’s supposed to be a more intimate meeting, but it doesn’t really work. Instead, it’s painfully awkward and just generally painful, for him to sit still and pretend to listen. It’s clear that he has no choice, that his mother will decide which girl will make a good wife (one who will look after him, who will keep in line, who will play a good sort of mother), no matter what he says. Knowing this to the base of his soul doesn’t exactly make for easy conversation, and Eddie gets the distinct sense that the girls are getting bored of him, and a few of them huff or get sarcastic when he sticks to one-word answers, but he can’t really blame them. He prefers that over when they ask if he’s ok, at least.

From then on, there are guards outside his door and patrolling around the base of the castle whenever he checks, which is often. There’s nowhere for him to go, nothing to cling to except for his friends’ promises. Even Stan is kept away from him, between the servants all being thrown fully into the preparations for the wedding and his mother’s watchful eyes. He nods at Bill when he sees him in the halls, and Mike will give him a sorry smile over their lessons, but the guards hanging around don’t exactly allow for any easy conversation. 

And there’s the wedding. It grows like the worst parasite, slimy and rapid and squirming its way into every little thing from the inside out, until its bursting through the surface. It’s entirely impossible for Eddie to hide from, no matter how hard he tries. The castle is decorated with it, his new, unwanted suit is made (the sort that will tear if he moves too much or laughs too hard or so much as breathes, it feels, so he chokes instead), and it’s the buzz of every conversation. He tries to wander in the garden and finds the alter. He tries to hide in the library and overhears the excited chatter of the servants. He tries to talk to Sonia about it again, almost.

It’s during his weekly check-up, where the nurses and medics and magical healers all check him over twice for good measure, demanding to know of any changes to his health, all as his mother watches. He sees the way they all glance at her, eyes downcast, terrified to displease the queen, and wants to apologize, but he’s really just supposed to pretend they aren’t there at all. His mom talks over the servants’ heads, cooing and asking him if he’s been taking his medicine, that he hasn’t spent too much time in the sun, has he? And he answers, of course. He lies. 

It’s automatic enough that he can try and think of what he wants to say. It’s all there in his head, the words building up on the tip of his tongue. Just let him talk it out, don’t make him do this, it isn’t fair, just let him choose, their kingdom will be fine. He stands there and seethes as a nurse lifts his arms like a puppet, a medic pressing fingers into the dip between his ribs to make sure he hasn’t suddenly come down with something. 

What comes out instead is, “I’m not going to marry her,” spat from between his teeth, and Eddie feels himself freeze, regretting it as his mother stills in turn. He knows instantly that he’s caught her in a bad mood, now that it’s too late. Sees the crease already in her forehead, the way she sighs just a little heavily, the way she’s makes the menial task of ordering the servants around is charged with malice, all of which he’d been too busy thinking to notice. Years of caution still don’t work quite right. 

Sonia freezes, and her voice is ice cold and sharp enough to cut. “What was that?” Her hands are fisted around her handkerchief enough for the knuckles to be white, and he can’t look anywhere else. Can’t raise his head at all. 

“I--Nothing.” Just like that, everything he’d wanted to say, the terror and injustice of hiding in a castle he’s meant to rule one day, fades in an instance. All he wants in the world is for her to not be upset. 

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, Mom. I’m sorry.” And she goes silent, watching him for a good, long moment, just for good measure, before turning back to her messy embroidery. The medics all return to their work, fast hands and downcast eyes, and Eddie barely even breathes. He doesn’t relax, not once, just stands there and works to feel nothing, holding tightly to the promise that it will all be okay. He’ll be able to get out, and his friends will help him, and he won’t be married to a strange woman and locked away forever. It’s hard to believe much of anything with his mother standing over him as she is. 

At least Stan’s waiting for him in the hallway when the check-up is finally over, hands folded neatly behind his back and expression neutral until the door closes, when he puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and sympathy bleeds into him. 

“Sorry, Eddie. You okay?” He asks, keeping a hand on his shoulder as they pass through the hallways beneath the masked watch of the guards, back to the East wing and his room. He wonders again where he would be without Stan, taking a deep breath. 

“Oh fuck no. Let’s just get out of here already. Seriously, do they have to do all that? It’s not like I’m stupid enough to try and leave.” He nods towards the guards, and Stan elbows him lightly in the side, giving him a look.

“Really? You’re friends with Richie Tozier, that sounds stupid to me.”

“So are you!” 

“ _I_ don’t also have a crush on him, so.” This time, it’s Eddie’s turn to elbow him.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I’m not happy about it, either.”

“Hmm.”

“I’m not!”

“Obviously. I believe you.” Stan says, sounding completely unconvinced as he opens the door to Eddie’s room, finding it blissfully empty. The last thing he wants right now is anyone else seeing him humiliated. 

Sighing, he flops, face-first, down onto the too-soft mattress with a satisfying _whumpf_. It smells like lavender and soap, like it always does--the pile of bedclothes and blankets is washed once a day, hauled down from his room to the servants’ quarters to be washed and replaced with a different, already-clean set. Sure, maybe Eddie would hate trying to sleep in his own filth or anything like that, but he wishes, just once, that he’d be able to come back to a room that smells like him. Or just seems lived-in at all. He’s got a stash of cheap adventure novels tucked into the bottom of his wardrobe and knick-knack gifts from his friends spread throughout, but it’s all hidden away. 

“The window’s open,” Stan notes from somewhere to his right, not sounding particularly concerned. Eddie just mumbles something that’s not really words into his comforter instead of a real answer, trying to hide his excitement. That window isn’t even supposed to open, too much risk in letting the cold in, but it was busted years ago. And there’s only one person who insists on visiting in the stupidest way possible. 

Eddie runs his hands over the bedspread without any real direction until his fingers bump into the rough edges of paper, crinkling beneath his fingertips as he grabs it. It takes way too much effort to actually lift his head up to read it, but it ends up being worth it.

Richie’s got chronically bad handwriting. Or, well, not exactly—Eddie knows he can write nicely if he wants to, if he goes slower, but Richie writes about as fast as Eddie can talk, which is to say at lightning speeds, like his hand can’t quite keep up with what he’s thinking. Obviously he makes fun of him for it, pretends not to be able to read words that are totally clear through years and years of practice, but. But it’s familiar enough to make his heart jump in his chest, just a little, and he only manages to school his face back into something neutral when he hears Stan scoff and realizes that he’s smiling. 

Richie’s shitty note reads, in shitty handwriting: Hey Eds! The Eastern Docks around Midnight, 28th, I’ll meet you on the way. Bev told me to make it short, sorry. Don’t get yourself caught.—Richie.” The bottom half is taken up by a pretty terrible, stick-figure drawing of Eddie climbing down from his balcony while his mother, complete with devil horns and pitchfork, looms over him, with an equally bad drawing of Richie himself at the bottom, except he’s got terrible, drawn-on biceps and abs that actually manage to make Eddie laugh. The 28th is cutting it pretty close, the night before his wedding, but he knows that it’s probably the best his friends could do.

Eddie takes the note, folding it up carefully and putting it in the tiny box in the back of his walk-in closet, then under the loose board there. It’s just another of his real, actual belongings that he has to hide from his mom and the few staff members loyal to her. Technically, it’s also a hiding spot from Richie, who would literally never stop giving him shit for it if he found out that Eddie kept every note he ever left for him, but that was a much better secret. The kind that’s fun, instead of scary.

Stan’s giving him a look when he comes back up, which he doesn’t appreciate even a little bit. “Okay, shut up. He said the 28th is when—”

“We’re getting out of here,” Stan says, expression shifting towards something closer to a smile, rocking back and forth on his heels a little bit. “Are you scared?” 

He gives himself a moment to think it over, climbing up onto the window seat and looking out over the castle grounds, the smaller houses of the rest of the city just barely reaching the horizon. If he looks hard enough, he can even see the blue sliver of the sea in the distance, glittering in the afternoon sun, and it really hits him that he’ll be on it in just over a week, away from here. 

“I think so, a little bit? It doesn’t feel real. But I’m, I’m more excited, I’ll really be away from here and it’ll be over, and I won’t have to worry about any of this stuff anymore. Even if it goes wrong, it can’t be any worse than this, so.” He admits, and Stan takes a seat opposite him, knees pulled up to his chest, staring out at the distance with him. “You?”

“I am, too. There’s a lot of things that could get messed up, but… “ Stan takes a deep breath, and Eddie watches as he steels himself, pushing away the worry. “I guess that there’s a lot that could go right, too. I think we’ll make it.” Eddie bumps him with his elbow, not quite sure how to say what he’s feeling otherwise. It’s not just his own life they’re running away from, but Stan’s leaving everything behind, and Mike, too. He’s tried to talk to them about it, once or twice, because Eddie doesn’t want to be selfish, to put his own life ahead of his friends’, but neither of them will have it. won’t have it. And, really, even through his worry, he’s glad they’ll be there with him, all of them.

And it hits him, really hits him, that he might actually make it. If he can just survive as he did for the last five years, since he really understood for the first time that this castle was not quite a home at all and that his mother was not quite a parent, he’ll make it. Only until the 28th.

They sit there, together on the windowsill, until a maid calls Eddie away for dinner, and he has to go out and face the loud sorrow and resentment of his mother, her choked sniffles and the harsh clatter of her setting her drink down too hard, but until then, he is just himself and he is hopeful.

* * *

The day before his wedding is… a lot. It’s been all chaos for the whole week beforehand, but this is something else. Eddie’s woken up early and ushered from room to room, somebody demanding something from him constantly and his mother keeping a careful eye. He’s dressed in that horrible suit for one final check-over, shown the gaudy, hideous flower arrangements, and trained in the proper way of doing their first dance as a married couple, if it comes to that. Eddie’s even given his vows, pre-written by someone or other, which is probably for the best. Even after being forced to spend an extended amount of time with her, he’s genuinely not sure what he could possibly say about Myra. Without being a complete dick, at least.

She is both smothering and incredibly needy, comforting and manipulative, and all around a person he knows exactly how to be around without wanting to. Basically, his mother found a younger version of herself for him to marry. He wishes he was more surprised. But mostly he wishes that part of him, a small part, still knows it would be easier to just keep his head down and go along with the whole thing. Eddie doesn’t want to marry Myra, he _knows_ that, but it would be easy. He’s lived his entire life one way. 

But Eddie is way, way too stubborn to back out from anything he’s sunk his teeth into, and he’s dragged his friends into this, and he tells that part of himself like hell he’s getting married. So he lets himself be dragged around, greets guests showing up for a wedding he will not be at, sits still and polite and pliant. He is the perfect son and the perfect to-be husband and he is going to run away. 

When evening settles, he tries to creep back to his room to wait, but his mother pulls him into a crushing hug first. She smells like fake flowers and old candles and everything familiar, and he’s sad he might never see her again, suddenly, the aching sort of sad that goes all the way through his chest; he hugs her back. She doesn’t love him, doesn’t even know him, and Eddie knows his own love for her is half desperation. That doesn’t mean he won’t miss her. It doesn’t mean he won’t leave anyway. For a long moment, he just holds his mother and feels very sorry for her.

When he walks away, he doesn’t make himself look back.

Instead, Eddie packs up his bedroom into a small chest and a sack, what little of it is his own. He takes the least conspicuous clothes he has, which isn’t many, and some of his books, and his stash of letters. There’s nothing else he wants. As an afterthought, he rips a piece of paper out of the front of a book he’s never read, and then a few more because it takes him a few tries to figure out what he wants to write on it. He crumples and tosses about six total. There’s a lot he wants to say, big, big things about all the way’s he’s been hurt and why he’s doing this and years of pain, all the tangled mess of feelings he’s built up. What he settles on instead is just: I’m gay. Fuck you.

He looks over his handiwork, laughing out loud to himself, suddenly giddy, and crosses the -Eddie he’d signed in favor of an -Eds. He might yell at Richie for calling him it, but he won’t ever need to know, and it’s a part of himself his mother’s never seen. 

Setting the note on the pillow of his neatly-made bed, he settles down to wait. When the night has really settled and the castle has dipped into sleep, Stan knocks on his door once, pushing it open with the pretense of delivering some gross old tea. He nods at him, just once, eyes giddy and Eddie gives him a thumbs up. He’s in the clear. Toeing on a pair of slippers, fluffy enough to be ridiculous and muffle his footsteps, he follows Stan out into the hallway and they take their different directions, Stan to the servants’ quarters to slip out, and Eddie towards the treasury. 

After the chaos of the last few days, the whole world seems to have gone quiet now. The dim torches paint shifting shadows across the stone walls and cool air bites at his ankles as he creeps through the empty, twisting halls. Instinct pushes Eddie into an almost-crouch, stopping and freezing every time he hears even the slightest noise, turning and ducking behind corners, his heart racing in his chest. 

He pads deeper and deeper into the bowels of the castle, taking a worn staircase down to the rooms and hallways he’s only ever seen once or twice, if it all. But Eddie doesn’t waver; he’s locked into the thought of the treasury and the rest just follows easily. He won’t get lost. 

But when he peaks out from behind a corner to the treasury doors, the hallway isn’t empty. There’s not any guards on duty to protect the treasury itself, this deep in the castle, he’d checked that over and over, but a few guards are sat against the wall anyways, clearly just slacking off. Even if they’re not alert, though, they’re still between him and the door.

Eddie resists the urge to sigh, running his hands through his hair in exasperation, turns around, and almost screams. There’s two servants standing directly behind him, both flailing awkwardly along with him. There’s Annaise, a maid who helps keep the library clean that he sees during his lessons with Mike with, and Claude, who makes the best desserts for every event, both of them gesturing wildly. 

For a second, everyone’s just silently flailing their hands at each other, mouthing words, and he just waits for them to yell, to give him up. Instead, Annaise puts up placating hands, before gesturing to the two of them and putting a finger over her lips. Claude gives him a double-thumbs up, beaming. Then she makes more hand gestures that he can’t actually figure out, dragging Claude away by the collar of his shirt with a big wave, ducking around a corner.

Eddie just stands there, completely frozen, trying to figure out what just happened. He still hasn’t manage it when yelling breaks out. 

“Hey! Hey we’re having, um, problems here!!! Troubles, issues!!!” Claude hollers from somewhere far off to his left, and Eddie watches the guards look at each other before sighing and meandering that way. 

He stays frozen for half a moment longer, somewhere between very confused and very grateful. It’s hard to remember it when the castle is kept silent under his mother’s thumb, but even beyond his friends he’s not alone. 

Instead of crying or something from how touched he is, he takes advantage of the opening they’ve left for him, slipping out and into the treasury, opening the sack from over his shoulder. There’s piles of jewels and gold throughout the room and he shovels it indiscriminately into his bag, enough to pay for the ship and then some. Then he pauses near the small columns with little platforms at the top, lined with the rarest jewels and fancy vases and little ornate music boxes and other ridiculous junk, pocketing some of that because he’s feeling spiteful and might as well do some real damage while he’s here. Once he’s got plenty, Eddie turns back to the door, finding it still clear as he creeps back to his room. 

He piles the bag of stolen jewels in with his own, smaller bag of personal possessions, slinging both over his shoulders, before walking out onto the balcony. The cold air whips across his face, and Eddie takes a second. This is really happening. He’s getting out. He’s getting away. 

Tossing down the bags to the walkway below, he shuffles over to the wall the right of his window, stepping up onto the railing and digging his hands into the trellis lining the stone wall of the castle. It supports his weight when he leans into it and Eddie shuts his eyes, holding his breath as he swings over the side and onto the trellis fully. His palms dig into the rough wood and his feet scrabble for purchase, but he manages, shuffling his way down into the dark step by step. It’s hard to breathe, a little, but it’s more wild excitement than anything else.

Richie’s waiting for him a little down the path, and it takes more than a little effort for Eddie to keep from running at him to tackle him into a hug. Instead, he just rams his shoulder into his, and Richie, startled, yelps, elbowing him.

“Shut up, asshole!” Eddie laughs, making a bad attempt at covering his mouth, almost yelling himself when Richie licks his hand. So he tries to kick him in the shin, which makes Richie elbow him, so Eddie puts him in a bad headlock, until they’re just hopping around, scrabbling at each other and yelling without making any noise. And then Eddie has to put a hand over his own mouth because he’s laughing, and he can’t seem to make himself stop. At least, until there’s the sound of footsteps around the corner, and both of them freeze. They share a look, and then Eddie’s forcibly dragging them backwards, tucking them both clumsily behind a fountain. 

They wait in hushed silence as the footsteps pass slowly, breathing fast as they wait. Eddie wishes his dumb stupid brain would actually pay more attention to the threat at hand than how close they are, legs tangled together and Richie’s front pressed against his shoulder as they hunch behind the fountain. He can feel his breath against his throat, coming fast and, if he turned his head just a little, he would be able to press his lips up against Richie’s. Instead, Eddie just holds very, very still, worried at what he’ll do if he doesn’t. 

The footsteps pass quickly, never even coming their way, but they stay frozen for a long time, staring at each other in terror. Then, long after they’ve been left alone in the garden, Richie starts laughing. It’s big, full, snorting Richie-laughter, shaking all the way through him, leaving Eddie breathless even when he’s not the one making noise. He’s just about to tell him to shut up again when Richie grabs his hand, pulling them both up to their feet, and takes off running towards the dock. They race trough the midnight-garden, hand-in-hand, and Eddie realizes that he’s laughing too, loud, and that he doesn’t care. Suddenly, he’s invincible.

While the castle hushes with the dark, the city comes alive with it. He’s never seen it like this, the lights of taverns and inns glowing yellow with colorful lanterns swinging from the archways over the road, and everything smells like fried pastries and ale. The streets are still full of people, drinking or laughing with friends or hanging off of lovers. None of them give them a second glance. 

The docks are emptier, the crowds dying down to just sea air and the huge shapes of ships rocking in the dark. Bev’s waiting for them farther down the docks, dressed like she’s spent her entire life at sea, grinning. If she looks ready for the ocean, though, the woman beside her might as well be Poseidon. She’s tall and stocky, dressed in worn trousers, a flowing teal shirt, and a smattering of scars, and she stands so easily, casual and comfortable and powerful. She must be Kay, and Eddie likes her immediately.

“Ready to go?” She asks, and he nods, coming to a stop. He’s still holding Richie’s hand even though he doesn’t really need to be, but neither of them let go. He pretends he doesn’t notice.

Kay leads them up onto one of the smaller ships, the name not quite visible in the dark, the dark shapes of the crew moving fluidly across it. He can tell that a few of them are trying to get a better look at him, but Eddie just keeps his head up, not giving them any sign he’s noticed. Trusting Bev means trusting Kay and the rest of her crew, and he trusts Beverly with his whole entire life. He’d probably want to get a look at the ex-prince, too. The title feels weird to think, and he can’t stop smiling. 

They’re shown into the hull of the ship, down to a tiny room barely separated from the main of the sleeping quarters, crammed full of the rest of his friends. Everything gets a little crazy the second he steps into the room. Bill tackles him into a hug right away, nearly knocking him over, and then everyone’s hugging him at once, and Eddie just does his best to return it, still laughing. 

“I thought there was no way you two wouldn’t get yourselves caught,” Stan notes, but any judgement is half-hearted, and Eddie just pulls him closer. 

“Oh, I knew they could do it,” Mike counters, beaming. “Eddie’s too stubborn, you should see him arguing with me about his lessons.”

“Oh my god, I never have to take a class ever again. No offense, Mike, you’re a great teacher, I just hate it. So, so much.”

“Are you sure you’ll be able to live without someone else doing your laundry and cooking your food?” Bev raises an eyebrow. 

“Hey, I can cook! Just because I’ve never actually done it doesn’t mean I can’t figure it out, and I’ve watched people make stuff before which is basically the same thing, so I think I’ll be fine.”

“Suuure, we’ll just wait and see if you burn the house down.” Bev pats him on the head a little, clearly amused. 

It’s the first night Eddie’s ever spent away from home. He’s crammed into that little room with the others, lying in a hammock that sways from side to side with the movement of the ship and the sea. The smells of sweat and old fabric are cut through by the salt of the ocean on all sides and the only light is a candle from the other side of the wall, flickering in through a tiny gap in the wood. Eddie lays there in the dark, the world completely unfamiliar and swaying, listening to the breathing of the people he trusts most in the world and staring up at the worn boards in the ceiling above him. Everything is hushed all around him, still and dark and quiet, and he is so happy it feels a little he’s floating.

But when he tumbles out of bed the next morning and directly onto the floor with a particularly hard lurch of the ship, it’s definitely all real. Eddie grumbles, scrambling up to his feet with literally no idea of where who he is for about five seconds. There’s no one left in their sleeping quarters at all, so he digs through his stuff for a clean set of clothes and dresses quickly, then separates out almost all of his loot from the treasury, shoving the coins and jewels into a separate little satchel.

Above deck, it’s clear that he’s slept into the early afternoon, everyone busy and full of life. Or, almost everyone. Ben’s sprawled out across the deck with his head resting in Beverly’s lap, his face a nasty shade of green.

“Eugh, are you ok?” Eddie asks, crouching down next to them. Ben cracks an eye open, pulling a face.

“Nooo. I hate the ocean, actually.” Ben groans, putting a hand over his eyes.

“He’s seasick,” Bev explains, and he nods in sympathy; Eddie’s not feeling quite that sick, but walking on a moving ship is definitely going to take some getting used to. And eating on one. And sleeping, apparently. He settles down next to them, getting ready to wait out the rest of the evening, since they won’t be getting there until the next morning. 

Kay seems pretty busy, walking around and surveying the ship, barking out orders and keeping everything on track, and she smiles and waves when she looks his direction. Eddie lifts the little bag of separated jewels, tossing it towards her when she approaches.

“You sure? I mean, I appreciate the cash, but it is a rescue mission and I don’t wanna charge too much for these things.” She shrugs, but Eddie waves his hands, not taking the bag back. 

“No, no, seriously, I don’t want it. I uh, I stole it from the treasury and stuff so it’s like, spite money, you know? We’ll have plenty to not, like, starve to death for awhile still and my mom hates pirates, so you should definitely keep it.” Eddie explains, and she raises an eyebrow, punching him just hard enough in the shoulder to physically scooch him over but soft enough to not quite hurt, and he laughs.

“Niiice, love to hear that. We’ll spend it wisely.” She winks and heads off, and Eddie settles back down. At least, he does until Richie bounds over to him from around a corner, flopping his side down into Eddie’s lap hard enough to knock the wind right out of him. He gives him a halfhearted shove but is too fond to really do any damage, content to let Richie’s bony shoulder dig into his leg. Beverly gives him a look that he ignores as hard as he can, getting comfortable to pretend like he doesn’t find Richie’s stupid jokes hilarious for the afternoon.

* * *

By the time they reach their destination, the scattered islands of Dartneu, Eddie feels like he’s going to buzz right out of his skin. It’s early morning and the air hangs heavy with condensation and the promise of freedom. The dock where they stop is much smaller than the one he’s used too, rag-tag and comfortable, and he peers out at it from under the wide-brimmed hat he’s wearing to hide his face. He takes in the different shapes, the insignias painted on the sides or lifted on flags, the intricate designs and figures carved onto the prow. He takes in the sails and all the ropes keeping them in place, the different fabrics and mechanisms and netting, and wonders how all of it works. On their way out, he finds a small pamphlet asking for shipyard employees, tucking it away in his bag.

Mike leads the way through the little town, nodding at people or calling out greetings, and they’re stopped a few times for old neighbors to pull him around and comment on how big he’s gotten since they’ve last seen him, which Mike handles with so much dignity and a big helping of politeness even as they all make faces at him. This place is nothing like the royal city and Eddie loves it right away. Instead of gleaming white buildings, neat stone pathways, and the queen’s banners flowing from every big, clean building, the messy dirt paths are lined with ramshackle, cozy-looking little shops, each with their own hand-painted or carved sign. It’s much smaller but so much more friendly, flowers spilling out into the street from the florists’ and the smell of fresh bread wafting from the bakery and the clanking of metal and the smell of smoke from the blacksmith’s shop. 

After swathes of patchwork farmland, dotted with little cottages and sprawling orchards, they walk down a thin little path through a patch of woods and come out on Mike’s old farm. It’s not a big house and it’s a little worn down, sat on the top of a little hill with wind-chimes and little trinkets hanging from over the porch, overgrown mint plants tumbling out of pots surrounding the front steps. The land around it is sprawling and green, dotted with a big, messy garden closer to the house, a scattered little orchard of fruit trees, and patches of forest in the distance. A creek cuts through it near the west end, and apparently in the woods nearby it feeds back into a river big and slow enough for swimming. 

The others take off running towards the house, hollering and laughing as they go, but Eddie stays behind for a moment. He takes a second to just breathe in, deep, smelling the soft earth and the flowers and the clear, open air. He hasn’t really processed yet that this is his life now, that he gets to stay in this place and choose how he spends his own time and a hundred other, tiny things he’s never gotten the chance to do before. He’ll never have to see his mother ever again.

“Y-Yuh-You doing okay, Eddie?” Bill asks, jogging back towards him, and he nods without hesitation. He’s not sure if the words to say how he’s feeling even exist, so instead he just smiles up at Bill and starts his own run up towards the house. His new home. Feet slamming against the firm ground he runs, breathing hard and running harder, chasing after his friends and the start of his life.

* * *

It takes time to get settled in, but he manages. It’s weird, plain and simple, to make all of his own choices, to walk barefoot in the dirt, to be himself all the time and not just when he’s away from his mother. Part of him is still convinced he’s going to die at any moment, just a little bit, without the safety of the inside of the castle and all its doctors, but weeks pass with scratches and scraped knees and headaches from just being alive, and none of it kills him. Sometimes he washes his hands twice or three times, sometimes he wishes he had something he could at least pretend was medicine, sometimes he can’t sleep at night, frozen with his hands fisted in the sheets, certain his mother will die without him, that he’s killed her somehow.

But he gets a job working in the shipyard, even through the clouded fear of everything else. That’s not easy, either: he has to haul heavy boxes all day and learn all the names for everything and spend hot hours in the sun, but he gets to learn the ins and outs of every ship, too, what makes some better for some jobs than others and how they’re built and how they’re sailed. And it feels good, to do real work for the first time in his life. They’ve still got enough jewels left over that even all seven of them don’t really need the money and won’t for awhile, but he wants to. 

There’s an uproar in the royal city looking for him, obviously. Bev reports that the castle was thrown into chaos looking for him and immediate rewards offered to anyone who knows anything about where he is, though of course nothing reliable turns up. The queen makes several tearful statements insisting he’s been kidnapped, while the talk in taverns speculates on why he ran away, some of it bizarre enough that he actually enjoys listening to it. He spends the first few months not leaving the farm at all, though he doesn’t think any of the townspeople would say a peep, even if they did recognize him; they’re good folks. But even with news of the mainland and his mother trickling in, it feels hardly worth worrying about, far away. It’s not his life, anymore.

And that’s not even the best part. Not only does he get a life, but it’s a life made with the people who matter the entire world to him. Him, Richie, Stan, and Mike are the only ones that stay on the island full-time, while Bill, Bev, and Ben come in and out, but more often than not they’re all together; they’ll spend days trying to wrangle the garden back into anything workable, or swimming in the river, or trying to cook something remotely edible in a too-small kitchen. It’s like everything he’d ever dreamed of as a kid, but better than any story-book ending because it’s real and here and he’s safe. 

There’s only one thing he’s still missing.

It’s the middle of the night when he finds Richie sitting out on the porch. He’s halfway to the little kitchen for a glass of water when he sees his silhouette, a dark shadow against the stars, and stops. He doesn’t hesitate before pushing open the door and walking out into the night, sitting down next to him in the silence. Richie doesn’t look surprised to see him, just smiling and shifting over to make room. And Eddie, who ran away and survived, lets himself rest his head on Richie’s shoulder. He holds his breath, waiting to be pushed off or laughed at or for something at all to go wrong. It’s not that they’re not touchy-feely, just that all the touchy part of that is usually hitting each other lightly or digging elbows into ribs, and all the feely stuff is either something nice quickly jumbled up with insults or just plain insults. But this is… this is really nice, to be this close, to feel his head lifted up and down slightly as Richie breathes. For a long time, they just sit there, staring out at the night sky.

“So. How does it feel to be an unmarried man, huh, Eds?” Richie asks, but there’s no jab behind his voice, and Eddie huffs out a breath of laughter. 

“You would know, dipshit.” He says. Then, “Good. Really good. I can’t believe I was going to have to get married to Myra.” Shuddering, he manages to make Richie laugh, and they lapse back into silence for. 

“I used to daydream about that, you know,” Richie whispers, so quiet that he’s barely even audible.

“About what, me marrying her?” He asks, moving his head back just for the sake of giving him a look, and Richie laughs again, but it’s just a little too loud. He’s looking right over Eddie’s shoulder, not into his eyes anymore. He feels his heart beating faster.

“No, I mean, about us. Getting married. Just when I was a little kid. You know, like, running away together to a different castle, a big thing with the whole kingdom, and a dragon would be there, super fucking cheesy. The whole nine yards.” He is bright red now, talking faster.

“Oh.” Eddie feels stupid for not saying anything else, but all he can think is, ‘what the fuck is happening? What the fuck is happening?’ on repeat, trying not to get his hopes up.

“And now?” 

“Well, now I know that getting a dragon just wouldn’t be realistic, and at this point getting the whole kingdom wouldn’t really work out either, so…” Richie trails off, his voice a little shaky, and the poor guy looks absolutely terrified. Eddie just sits there for a long minute, his heart racing its way up out of his throat as he tries to process, to make sure that he’s not dreaming this. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—” And he’s standing, walking away too quickly, before Eddie can even think properly. But he knows he doesn’t want Richie to walk away.

“No, no, wait, Rich, wait!” Eddie calls, running after him once he manages to be a person enough to stand. “I said wait, asshole!” He yells when Richie starts running, chasing after him. It’s not fair because Richie’s taller, but Eddie’s faster, managing to grab his hand. When Richie turns to him, his face is still all that horrible, blind-panic fear, and Eddie does the only thing he can think of. 

He kisses Richie. It’s not a very good kiss, and is probably actually a bad one, with him kind of missing his mouth a little bit and Richie completely unprepared, but it’s still a kiss. 

“You can’t just fucking propose to me and expect me to have a response to that right away! I don’t know what to say to that!” He whispers, still holding Richie’s face in his hands, and he’s got the stupidest, goofiest grin on his face and Eddie loves him so so so much.

“I mean, I wasn’t really trying to propose, I don’t think we’re like, ready for that yet, but clearly I was wrong.”

“No way, I’ve had enough of weddings for awhile. Shut up.” And Richie kisses him and it’s an actual kiss this time, the soft press of lips against his and Richie’s hand cupping the back of his neck. Eddie cannot believe his luck.

They stay out on the porch until the sun rises, sitting together and kissing and talking and laughing, listening as their friends slowly wake up and start moving and watching the slow rise of the sun over the rolling hills, peaceful. Eddie holds Richie’s hand in his own and never, ever wants to let go. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!!! Huge thanks to njess04 on tumblr for this absolutely stunning fanart!!!!!! And also the mods of the reddiebang as a whole, as there was a LOT to deal with over the course of the event this year and they handled it super well.


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